


Désillusion

by Saltedkiss



Series: Unsteady [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e13 The Diamond of the Day, Famous Merlin (Merlin), Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Modern Day, Musician Merlin (Merlin), Paris - Freeform, Post-Battle of Camlann (Merlin), Rated mature for substance abuse, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29374281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltedkiss/pseuds/Saltedkiss
Summary: Nadine Allard is a young intern at the record label Papillon, where the famous but reclusive songwriter Emrys has signed on. When she finally gets a chance to meet her idol, he's not quite what she had expected.Written for Camelove 2021 - Day 4: Cupid's Aro
Relationships: Merlin (Merlin) & Original Character(s)
Series: Unsteady [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157750
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10
Collections: Camelove 2021





	Désillusion

**Author's Note:**

> This fic tells the story of how Nadine and Merlin first met. It's set ten years before the main events in my WIP A Little Unsteady, and was written for Camelove 2021 (Day 4: Cupid's Aro). Writing this has been pure self-indulgence on my part. I fell in love with one of my OCs and couldn't _not_ write about her friendship with Merlin when the opportunity presented itself. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Désillusionnement 

_\de.zi.ly.zjɔn.mɑ̃\ - n.m. Libération de quelqu’un de ses illusions_

Paris, France  
Nine years and seven months before the return of King Arthur Pendragon

Nadine Allard's hand slid down her oversized bag, where she knew she’d find the keys monsieur Dupont had given her. The ones that would open the door to her idol’s apartment. She’d taken the métro to the stop _Cluny-La Sorbonne_. He lived in the 5th Arrondissement, near the Seine. Of course he did. When Nadine got out of the métro station, the sun had come out for the first time that day. A sign everything would go well. She wouldn’t mess this up. _Oh mon Dieu, please don’t let me mess this up_ , she prayed as her fingers closed around the cold metal. 

“Make sure to stop for un café,” her boss, monsieur Dupont had said. “He takes his black. No sugar. Actually, get five. He’ll need them.” 

She hadn’t listened but had chosen to bring a thermos full of coffee she’d made herself. There was no way she was going to risk buying him anything subpar by accident. Not today. Not when she’d finally get to meet him. 

Emrys. 

Nadine had spent the past couple of months working herself to the bone to get in monsieur Dupont’s good graces. She’d been selected to work as an intern at Papillon, a small record label in the outskirts of Paris. She’d gotten the position after begging her uncle to put in a good word for her with his friend from college, Jacques Dupont, Papillon’s CEO. 

Her uncle hadn’t understood why she’d bothered at first. The clever redhead was the best of her class at the _Université de Paris_ and could have her pick from any big company in the City of Love. And yet she’d practically bent over backwards to get this job, an unpaid summer internship no less! Nadine wasn’t the kind to do anything on a whim. This was no exception. 

She’d done her research. She always did. Nadine knew exactly how many artists were signed by the label, knew where the offices were and had spent more time than she was willing to admit in the crèmerie across the street from the Papillon office before they hired her, in the hopes she’d get a glimpse of him. 

_The_ Emrys. 

She hadn’t seen him. No one ever did. The tabloids were full of speculations about this infamous musician. The ghostwriter behind pretty much every single hit song in the charts all around Europe. He didn’t perform live. Barely gave any interviews. He’d simply appeared out of nowhere one day, had signed with an unknown label and had taken the music industry by storm. She knew her chances of ever meeting him were zero to none, unless she somehow elbowed her way into those offices she’d lurked around. So she made a plan to do exactly that, and had executed it perfectly, if she said so herself. 

And now the time had finally come. The only thing standing between Nadine and the genius whose music had been the soundtrack to every single high or low Nadine had experienced in the past couple of years, was a door. A single door. One she had the keys to. _Oh mon Dieu._

Nadine’s fingers trembled when she opened the door to Emrys’ apartment. The moment it did, she had to take a step back. The putrid air that came out of the apartment reeked of stale beer and unwashed bodies. And something sour she couldn’t quite place. 

“Emrys?” 

She took a deep breath and stepped over the threshold, into an unlit room. The curtains were drawn, leaving the room in a perpetual state of twilight. Nadine thought she heard someone moan in the next room. That _smell_ though. The light that streamed in from the hall behind her was enough to help her find a light switch. It felt greasy underneath her fingers when she flipped it. 

“I brought coffee,” she tried, cursing herself in silence for allowing a nervous tremor to creep through. Wait. One of the bloggers Nadine followed, was convinced Emrys was actually American. Did he even speak French? She tried again, in English this time. Another moan. That meant someone was alive in there, at least. The sour stench still hung thick in the air. She headed in the direction the sound had come from and soon found herself in yet another dark room. She gagged. 

A scrawny man lay on the floor, in what she assumed was a puddle of vomit. His last meal had been a liquid one, by the looks of it. Hard liquor, judging by the smell. The man on the floor was so pale she wondered if she’d be able to see right through him if she turned on the light. He had dark bruises underneath his closed eyes. He was so terribly thin, she could see the bones sticking out through his stained shirt. 

“This won’t do,” she mumbled, mostly to herself. Nadine went straight for the windows and opened them, allowing a gust of fresh air into the room. The man on the floor stirred. She looked around and found herself in the middle of a dingy kitchen. The counter was full of mouldy dishes and cartons covered in living organisms that had probably once been takeaway meals. She opened empty cupboard after empty cupboard until she finally found a clean dishcloth. After wetting it, she went back to the ball of misery that was her idol and crouched down beside him. “I’m going to turn you over, Emrys,” she said, one hand already on his shoulder, the other on a sharp hipbone. _Merde_ , how could anyone be so damn thin? 

“Merlin.” 

She blinked a couple of times, unsure of what she’d just heard. Was he having a stroke? There was no way monsieur Dupont would believe she hadn’t caused it, if he was. Nadine swallowed and quickly opened her mouth again to breathe. She’d given up on breathing through her nose a while ago. 

“ _Excusez-moi_?” she tried. 

“You called me Emrys. The name’s Merlin,” he said, his French so fluent she barely caught the hint of an accent. So he _did_ speak French. Fluently, too. Emryslover158 had been wrong after all. And... had he just given her his name? No one knew his real name. All they had to go on was that pseudonym and a bunch of blurry pictures. Holy shit. 

She looked at the frail creature before her. Tried to make sense of how this was the man she’d idolised, the one she’d considered larger than life. Just like so many others. Perhaps that was the problem. Nadine remembered a marble statue she’d once seen at the Louvre. It had fallen from the pedestal its makers had placed it on, and had been damaged irreparably. Not because the marble was of a lesser quality. But because it had been placed in an impossible position, where all it could do was fall. 

“Nice to meet you, Merlin. The name’s Nadine Allard. Monsieur Dupont sent me to... bring you coffee.” Monsieur Dupont’s exact words had been “Go see if he’s still alive,” but Nadine decided it might be best not to tell him this. 

“Thanks. Leave it on the counter. If you find a place to put it. If not, floor’s fine. I’ll get to it later. Sleeping.” 

“Not happening.” She knew he’d tried to give her an out. She didn't even consider taking it. “I’m not sure you’re aware of this, but you’re currently lying on a cold tile floor in the middle of your own sick. And I’m not having it.” She tried to sound firm and channelled one of a million lectures she’d gotten from her mother when she was younger. He let out a dry chuckle. Perhaps she hadn’t been as convincing as she thought. 

She wasn’t going to give up, though. “Right, Merlin, I’m going to roll you over onto your other side and clean your face.” He didn’t argue so she did as promised. He barely reacted to the cold wet cloth on his cheek. She cleaned up most of the vomit on his face and neck. A couple of chunks had nestled in his matted hair. “You need a shower. Don’t move.” 

That earned her another chuckle. “I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry.” 

She made her way through a cramped living room full of various musical instruments and found a bathroom on the other side. _Oh. Mon. Dieu._ If the kitchen had been bad, this place was even worse. Nadine regretted putting on her grandmother’s vintage leather vest and her new summer dress this morning. Chances were she’d have to burn the clothes she was wearing now. How could he live like this? How could anyone live like this? After rinsing the worst of the grime out of the shower, she turned the temperature up to 40°C and left the water running. 

“Get up,” she ordered. When he didn’t move, she hoisted him up herself and hauled him to the bathroom, where they were welcomed by the steam that had begun to rise up from the shower. Hauling this tall man around shouldn’t be this easy. When was the last time he’d had a proper meal? Nadine’s stomach clenched as she felt him shiver. His body seemed to react to the heat in the room at least. 

“I’m going to let you clean up, alright? Call me if you need me.” She thought he nodded. That or his teeth were chattering. 

Nadine opened every single window she could find and made a beeline for the kitchen, where she filled trash bag after trash bag with the mess that had covered every possible surface. After filling three bags, she called out to the man in the bathroom. When he confirmed he hadn’t died since she left him alone, she started to scrub the counter. Mopped the floor. Then made her way to the living room. By the time he came out of the bathroom, she’d made good progress in the small living area, too. He gave her a bewildered look. The shower had done him good, she noticed. There was a bit of colour on his gaunt cheeks. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“I’m bringing you coffee. I left it on the counter, like you asked.” She didn’t wait for a response but got back to work. The loud gasp that came from the kitchen when he’d shuffled over there, put a smile on Nadine’s face. By the time he came back, she’d cleared most of the stuff and had even revealed a sofa-bed. 

“The coffee’s really good. Where did you get it?” he asked. It almost sounded like an apology. 

“I made it. Can’t trust anyone to brew a decent pot these days,” she smiled. He offered her a tentative one of his own, in return. “Monsieur Dupont asked me to come see how you were doing. He said you haven’t returned any of his calls.” 

“What day is it?” he asked. 

“Wednesday.” 

“The date.” 

“Right. It's the twelfth.” 

“Of?” 

“August.” 

“Oh.” 

He ran a hand through his hair. It was still wet at the tips, she noticed. He leaned against the wall and let himself slide down onto the floor, where he rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his head onto his arms. Nadine sighed and went to sit on the floor with him, making sure to keep some space between the two of them. He looked like he might need it. 

“Merlin?” He groaned. She doubted she’d get more encouragement to keep going than this, so she continued, “How can I make this better?” 

She didn’t ask if he was okay. 

He wasn’t. 

Didn’t ask if she could fix things. 

She couldn’t. 

But maybe, just maybe, she could make things better, if only a little. Maybe she could help this wounded soul. Stand by him as he faced a world where everyone seemed to want a piece of him. Be there when the dust settled and help pick up the pieces that remained, however few there might be. 


End file.
